


Consecuencias

by Quentin2



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: AU - Maybe?, Backstory, F/M, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Gen, Harvard Era, Harvard University, Law School, Other, breakup angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quentin2/pseuds/Quentin2
Summary: Rafael Barba just wants to get through law school and forget about his former flame, Yelina. Friend and rival Rita Calhoun has other plans. But every action has its consequences, and Rita has no idea what she's setting in motion.





	Consecuencias

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about Barba in law school a lot lately, and the result is this story. I love the idea of Barba and Rita being friends (and rivals) in law school, an idea inspired by tumblr, although alas I can't remember who it came from. If you made a Rita Calhoun aesthetic post that implied she's also a Harvard grad, I owe you a debt of gratitude!  
>   
> I've taken a bit of latitude when it comes to Barba's personal history and the time-frame for this story. I hope you'll forgive me, and bear with me. Hopefully it'll be worth it. I haven't written fan fic for a while, so you patience is appreciated. Please be gentle!

** New Year’s Eve – First Year **

 

“You know what I miss?” Rita Calhoun yelled over the cacophony of New Year’s revelers. Cambridge was typically quiet during the winter recess, but it seemed that every Harvard student who had remained on or near campus had turned out for the evening’s festivities at the bar. Rafael could barely hear himself think, let alone make out more than every third word Rita was saying.

                “What do you miss?” he yelled back, more amused than actually interested. He had never seen his classmate drunk before, and he was curious what she would do before the night was over.

                “I miss when we’d get a whole month off for winter break!” she screamed, knocking her beer glass against the table for emphasis. “These undergrad bastards don’t know how lucky they are.”

                Rafael had to agree with Rita on that one. The new law school term would begin on Monday, giving them just enough time to sleep off their New Year’s hangover before it was back to the grind. Undergraduates wouldn’t be back in session until the end of the month. He sighed. “I guess this is called being an adult,” he observed wryly.

                Rita rolled her eyes. “Being an adult is overrated.”

                Rafael smiled to himself and glanced up at the TVs over the bar. Normally they would be tuned to ESPN or NESN, but tonight every screen was filled with one of those awful New Year’s countdown shows. On the screen closest to him, a pop star with shocking pink hair was belting out a song no one in the bar could hear thanks to the club remixes blasting around them. She was dressed in what Rafael could only describe as lingerie, as though she had rolled out of bed and onto the stage. If the weather in Boston was any indicator, it was probably around 20 degrees in Manhattan; the poor girl had to be freezing.

                He leaned over to make a snarky remark to Rita, but Rita leapt to her feet and was waving to someone across the bar. “Clara! Over here!”

  
                Somehow this Clara was able to hear and see Rita, a miracle in this crowd, and a few moments later she was muscling her way back to their table. Rita produced a chair, seemingly out of thin air and motioned for the girl to sit down.

                “You made it! I thought you weren’t coming. It’s almost midnight.”

                “Some of the people from the department rented a room at Noir. I got sucked into mediating a conversation about the treatment of the First Nations in Canada versus native peoples in French colonies. Everyone was drunk and insulting one another by the time I got away.”

                “Was Eric there?”

                Clara arched an eyebrow. “Oh Eric was there. With his tall blonde girlfriend that he seemed to forget to mention while he was stringing me along all semester. Apparently she decided to move up from Dallas because he proposed on Christmas.” She wrinkled her nose. “The only thing tackier than a proposal on Christmas is a proposal on Valentine’s Day.”

                Rita motioned to a server. “Maybe you dodged a bullet.”

                “He shouldn’t be firing at all if he’s got an almost-fiancé back home.” She shrugged off her wool coat.

                Ah, Rafael thought, that explained why Rita’s friend was dressed almost as ridiculously the pop star on TV, in a small, sleeveless black crochet mini dress that clung to her body as if it was trying to leech body heat from her. Her coat was longer than the dress, Rafael observed in amusement. The ensemble was completed with a dangerous-looking pair of cage-heel stilettos entirely inappropriate for the icy Cambridge sidewalks. Sans coat, she probably would have fit in perfectly in Miami, but was far too overdressed for a college bar.

                She turned to him, catching his eyes on her. “I don’t usually dress like this,” she said, almost apologetic.

                “I’m not complaining,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you haven’t broken an ankle yet.”

                “The night’s not over, and considering the week I’ve been having…” She shook her head. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Clara Gibson.”

                Rafael shook her hand. “Rafael Barba.”

                A frazzled-looking waitress appeared at their table. “I’d like a refill,” Rita said. “Raf?”

                “I’m good.” This was one of his New Year’s resolutions – stay out of trouble. There had been too many drunken nights that fall as he tried to drown a broken heart in whatever alcohol was readily available and cheap. New year, new Rafael. Maybe.

                The waitress turned to Clara. “Just coffee,” she said. Rita shot her a frown and Clara mimed holding a steering wheel. “I already had a few at Noir. Plus I heard they’re going to have patrols out all night. And like I said, considering the week….”

                “You two are the worst New Year’s Eve partiers I’ve ever met.”

                Rafael exchanged a glance with Clara, who shrugged. “You’re law then, I’m guessing?” she said, ignoring Rita’s jibes. The waitress had returned with her coffee and Clara took a sip before setting it aside with distain. “You’d think by now I’d know better than to order coffee at a bar. But I seem incapable of learning from my mistakes.”

                He smiled appreciatively. At least he wasn’t the only one who had that problem. “Yeah, I’m a first year, like Rita. But you’re not, otherwise I would have seen you around. How do you know each other?”

                Rita and Clara laughed. “She saved me from Paul Oswald our first week here.”

                “What?”

                “Remember that huge grad student mixer they had during orientation week?” Rita asked. “You probably blew it off because you’re antisocial—“

                “I’m here tonight, aren’t I?” Rafael protested, but he knew Rita was right. He vaguely remember seeing something about that mixer in his orientation brochure but he had skipped over it quickly. He would rather pull an all-nighter two nights in a row then spend an evening in the company of hundreds of grad students all trying to be the smartest person in the room.

                “The point is, you weren’t there that night,” Rita said. “Anyway, I got cornered by Paul and he was doing that know-it-all routine that we’re all familiar with by now, and I must have looked as bored as I felt, because suddenly Clara was beside me, greeting me like an old friend. Bear in mind, I’ve never seen her before in my life, but she’s a good actress because Paul took the hint and skulked off to find his next victim.”

                Clara took another sip of her coffee. “I think he thinks we’re a couple. Rita just looked so miserable, I had to intervene.”

                “We’d still be there if you hadn’t.” Rita took a long quaff of beer. “Besides, the last thing I need is Paul Oswald hitting on me.” She rolled her eyes. “How was LA?”

                Clara shivered and pulled her coat back over her shoulders. She nestled into it, wrapping it tightly around herself. “Warmer than here. I keep thinking I could be in Malibu right now, on the beach, instead of risking life and limb to navigate the snow in these for a guy who’s engaged to someone else.” She straightened a leg so Rita could see her shoes. “Moliere didn’t do farce any better.”

                “Must be nice getting to take off for the beach for Christmas,” Rafael said, slightly startled by how bitter he sounded. In the weeks leading up to the winter recess, all his classmates could talk about were their Christmas plans, trips to ski the Swiss Alps or the beaches of the Côte d’Azur. His brief train trip back to the Bronx couldn’t compare and though he hated to admit it, he did resent all these rich kids and their glamorous trips.

                The corner of Clara’s lip twisted into a thin smile. “Yeah well, tell you what. Next year you can go for me. Law student like you? My mother will probably try to bribe you to marry me.”

                “Perish the thought.” Rita raised her glass.

                “Oh, that’s where you’re from? LA? I guess that explains the club-hopping get-up. I was thinking Miami, maybe…” _Stop talking, Rafael._

“Unfortunately for me, LA is more work than pleasure,” Clara said flatly.

                Rafael cocked an eyebrow. “You must be studying something pretty useless if your mother’s bribing law students to marry you. Our post-graduate debt is notorious. And I thought my mother was desperate for grandchildren.”  

                “See, that debt is why she would assume the bribe would work And you’re right. I’m studying anthropology.”

                He laughed. “Yeah, that’ll about do it. What, is she worried you’ll run off to live in the jungle? The second coming of Margaret Mead?”

                “As tempting as that might sound, I’m physical anthropology, not cultural. I’m destined for an ME’s office, I suppose, or the FBI. Maybe a museum, if _le musée d'Archéologie nationale_ comes calling. We’ll see.” She smirked at his confused expression. “I work with bones, mostly. Or, well, that’s the hope, eventually.”

                “She’s one of those people who can identify a skeleton from a toe bone,” Rita said brightly.

                “That might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Clara said. “Thank you TV.”

                Before Rafael could respond, the bar fell silent as one of the bartenders, a petite blonde in a white tank top, climbed up on the bar so she could make an announcement. “Hey, listen up, everyone! It’s almost midnight, and to thank our loyal patrons—“ A collective whoop sounded from the crowd “—to thank our loyal patrons, New Year’s champagne is on the house! One per customer please, no bitching about the quality or I’m going to cut you off! And that’s not an empty threat, so don’t test me. Happy New Year everyone!”

                The crowd cheered again and someone pressed a red Solo cup with an anemic portion of champagne into Rafael’s hand. Clara peered into her own cup, swirling it. “I think mine’s gone flat.”

                “You’re not allowed to complain!” Rita said.

                “I’m not complaining. I’m observing. And my observation is that this has gone flat.”

                Rafael was inclined to agree with Clara, as the liquid in his glass was missing the tell-tale effervescence of champagne. He leaned towards her to tell her as much, but the crowd began counting down the seconds to midnight. The trio craned to watch the ball drop.

                “Next year, we should do Times Square,” Rita said. “I feel like that’s something everyone should do once in their life.”

                Rafael shivered involuntarily. Yelina had said almost the exact same words to him last year as they watched the ball drop in his apartment.

                “Please, Rafi, I want to see that live next year! Imagine being at the epicenter of the universe on the most important night of the year!”

                Rafael had been kissing her neck, looking for that sweet spot that made her melt for him, and would have promised anything to turn her attention back to him. In those days, he still believed she loved him and used to marvel at his luck, that someone as beautiful as Yelina would even give him a second glance, let alone share her life with him. He wondered if she was at Times Square tonight, her perfect body pressed against someone else. He wondered if she was thinking of him the way he was thinking of her.

                Someone was drunkenly wailing Auld Lang Sein – or, well, words that only vaguely approximated Auld Lang Sein – and Clara’s eyes were on him, watching him as he stared at the TV, willing the broadcasters to show him his Yelina while simultaneously fearing they would. “You couldn’t pay me enough to spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square,” Clara said. “So you’ll have to count me out of that adventure.” 

                Rafael knocked his cup against Clara’s. “That makes two of us.” He drank his champagne and almost choked. “You were right. This is definitely flat. And might just be room temperature ginger ale.”

                Clara tasted hers and stuck out her tongue. “Who was in charge of this crap, Fozzie Bear?”

                “Shhhh! That _is_ complaining! Do you want to get us kicked out?” Rita grabbed Clara and Rafael’s cups and emptied them into her own. “You two are a couple of bourgeois snobs. I bet you don’t even consider champagne champagne unless it comes from France!”

                “Well, I mean, I do, but I’m half French, so I’m probably not the right person to ask.” Clara grinned and Rita glowered at her.

                “You’re going to make me regret inviting you.”

                “Is that true, you’re half French?” Rafael asked. Gibson didn't strike him as a particularly French name.

                “French-Algerian, technically. _Ma mère est née à Alger_ [1]. But yeah, it’s true.”

                 “I’m Cuban.”

                “Really? I was wondering what Barba was, but I was having trouble coming up with a tactful way to ask. I was guessing Spanish maybe? Barba, that’s beard in Spanish, right?” Clara asked.

                Rafael sat up slightly. “ _Habla español_?”

                “Not well, despite the wealth of opportunities to learn in LA. I studied it in high school, but it never really stuck. Whenever I try to speak Spanish, it ends up turning into French by the end of the sentence anyway. _Barbe_ is French for beard, so I made a leap.”

                “You really should learn, considering you’re from LA.”

                Clara eyed him. “Maybe you could tutor me,” she said archly.

                “Maybe I could.”

                Beside them, Rita grinned into her solo cup, saying nothing.

* * *

 

Two hours later, they had managed to get Rita home and tucked safely in bed with water and aspirin and written instructions to call both Rafael and Clara in the morning to assure them she was alive and well.

                “I hope she doesn’t vomit and aspirate…” Clara said, glancing back over her shoulder at Rita’s apartment building. Her lips twisted into a fine line of worry. “Maybe one of us should stay with her.”

                It had begun to snow while they were in Rita’s apartment, thick, fluffy flakes that now clung to Clara’s eyelashes and the stray hairs that had escaped the bun she was wearing. In the lights from the streetlamps, she looked like a postmodern reinterpretation of a renaissance saint, a corona of snow surrounding her head instead of a halo. When Rafael blinked, snow clotted on his eyelashes as well.  

                “If she didn’t puke when she started in on the champagne, she won’t now. She’s going to be dead to the world for a while, but she'll be fine,” he said. “Careful.” He offered Clara his arm as she tottered along the sidewalk, arms akimbo for balance. “You look ridiculous.”

                “I know,” was all she said, her voice small. But she took his arm, allowing him to help her to the car. “I guess I should have checked the weather report for tonight, but I…” She sighed. “I wanted to look… you know. But he didn’t even notice.” This she said more to herself than to Rafael, as though she had forgotten she wasn’t alone. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “It is entirely too late. Do you want a ride?”

                “I can take a cab.”

                “Nonsense. We’re in the middle of residential Sommerville. You’ll never find a cab tonight, and even if you did, it’ll cost you a king’s ransom. Where do you live?”

                Rafael smirked. “Quincy.”

                Clara’s face fell. “You’re kidding.”

                “I am.” He grinned at her.

                “Thank god. I didn’t want to try and get around the city on tonight of all nights. If you lived in Quincy, you might as well stay with me, you’d be getting home around five anyway.” She pronounced the town like a native: Quin-zee.         

                “Tempting.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Where to then?” Rafael gave her a Cambridge address. “Oh, I know that. You’re not too far from me – there’s a great Thai place near you that does takeout late. I live near MIT.”

                “That’s an odd place for a Harvard student to live.”

                “I know, but technically the place is my brother’s. He went to MIT, then stayed out here for a few years. By the time he was looking to go back to LA, I was applying to Harvard, so he decided to keep the place. I offered to trade him my place near USC, but he didn’t seem all that excited about the area.” She laughed.

                Rafael, who knew nothing about the geography LA or where USC fit into that geography, decided to pretend he got the joke and smiled appreciatively, though he doubted she could see him. “Wow, so your brother went to MIT? Brains run in the family, I guess.”

                “Nah, he’s the smart one. I’m just…there.”

                “You did get into Harvard,” Rafael pointed out.

                “What, like it’s hard?” Clara said, glancing at him mischievously.

                “Right. Okay Elle Woods.”

                “Pop culture savant and legal scholar. You keep getting better and better, Rafael Barba.”

                Rafael chuckled. “My ex loved chick flicks, so I saw plenty.” He thought a moment of Yelina, again. Even now, he was still thinking of her, still missing her, even after everything. She had such incongruent movie tastes for a woman who projected such a sense of refinement. She looked like she would favor Kurosawa or Ingmar Bergman, but instead she loved any romantic comedy she could get her hands on. It was part of why he had loved her, the way she kept surprising him. When they had spent last New Year’s Eve together, he had been seriously considering proposing. His heart ached once more, keenly, for Yelina, though he hadn’t seen her since the summer. Sometimes, in the disorientation before he was completely awake in the morning, he thought she was still by his side, and the realization that he was alone broke his heart all over again.

                His silence was telling and Clara nodded. “I see,” she said softly. “You have any siblings?” she asked after a moment, as though she was grasping at anything to keep the mood between them lapsing into awkwardness.

                “No, just me.”

                Clara was quiet. “I don’t even know where you’re from,” she said at last. “You know everything about me, and I don’t know a thing about you.”

                “I don’t know everything about you. All I know is that you’re from LA, you dress inappropriately for the weather, and you have a car that might be older than you are.” He smiled again, relenting. “I’m from New York. The Bronx.”

                “New York…”

                “Yeah, you’ve heard of it?”

                “In passing.” Clara beamed at him. “That’s a big adjustment, the Bronx to Cambridge.”

                “It’s funny how quickly law school sucks up any time you might spend wallowing in homesickness,” Rafael said.

                “I can only imagine.”

                “You get homesick? LA's a long way away. I can hop on the Acela whenever I miss home, but you...”

                Her smile faded. “Ask me when it’s not twenty degrees out. This is the first time I’ve ever seen snow.”

                He turned to look at her. “Really?”

                “I mean, I’ve seen it in movies and on TV and whatnot. But in real life? It’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure. Can’t say I’m a fan.”

                “I’m impressed you can drive in it,” he said.

                “It helps that I’m the only one on the road. And it’s all residential.” She peered through the windshield at the street signs. Nothing was well marked in Cambridge.

                Rafael motioned to his left. “This is me,” he said, and they turned onto a tree-lined street off of Harvard St. The apartment he had found on the first floor of a multi-family building had been something of a stroke of luck; his rent was well under market value for the area. Rafael dreaded the day that his landlord would come to his senses. All the houses on the street were well maintained, and painted a variety of bright colors, not that anyone could tell in the dark. He had already come to love the neighborhood, so different from his apartment complex in the Bronx. Here, he could almost forget he was in a city and he relished the solitude the area afforded him. It was the perfect setting for the long study sessions that had already become his new normal. “So, uh, it was nice to meet you,” he said, suddenly awkward as their evening drew to a close.

                “You too.” Clara extended her hand again. “Maybe I’ll see you around the Square some time.”

                “Good luck with your Anthropologing.”

                She smirked. “Good luck with your Law School…ing.” She rolled down her window as he got out of the car.

                He glanced back at her. “You know, I never asked. Do  you have any New Year’s Resolutions?”

                Clara leaned an elbow on the window, pensive. “Not really. I don’t really do resolutions.”

                “Aw, come on. The end of January is so dull without the gnawing guilt of having already broken all your resolutions.”

                “Alright then, smart ass, what’s your resolution?”

                He hesitated and balled his fists in his coat pockets. “To stay out of trouble.”

                “I see.” Clara looked at him and her eyes softened slightly. “I guess then, if I have to pick, I resolve to actually learn from my mistakes this year, instead of repeating them. That and, after tonight, I think I’m swearing off men for a while.”

                “But women are fair game?”

                She laughed at that. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Goodnight, Rafael.”

                “Goodnight, Clara.” She started to roll up her window but something impelled him to stop her. Maybe it was the drinking, maybe the hour, maybe the hope that a new year always brought, even though by now he should have known better, but something made him say “Clara, wait.”

                She hesitated then, on the downward turn of the crank, so her eyes were just visible above the glass. He had spent an entire evening with this woman, and he still couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, he thought as she stared at him, frozen in place.

                “You know,” Rafael said quietly, “I don’t know who this guy is, the one you planned on seeing this evening, but if he saw you looking like…that…” He nodded in the vague direction of the car. “…and didn’t immediately regret his decisions, he’s an idiot.”

                Clara straightened and blushed. “You’re too kind,” she said, her gaze skittering away from him.

                “No, I’m not. I’m being honest. You can do way better.”

                She thought for a moment. “Well, if you were half as nice to your ex as you are to an almost complete stranger, she was a fool to let you go. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I think you can do way better as well.”

                He stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds longer, watching her car drive away and the snow fall. After the close air and cacophony of the bar, the cold, wintery silence was welcome. It was three thirty in the morning, classes would start in three days, and it would behoove him to get some sleep. But there he remained, lost in thought.

                New year, new Rafael.

                Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] _Ma mère est née à Alger_ \- My mother was born in Algiers


End file.
